The Mirror Adds Ten Pounds
by gussiegal5
Summary: Clint has never liked mirrors.
1. Chapter 1

When Clint is little, like really little, he can remember his mother cuddling him in her lap. She's holding one of those little hand held mirrors in one hand, her other arm is wrapped around Clint's waist and is holding him close. He watches with interest as the mirror flashes with light. The bare bulb that sits in the center of the living room ceiling giving everything a yellow tint.

"What do you think Clint? Do you think Daddy will like my new look?"

Clint tilts his head sideways until his ear thumps his shoulder, studying Mommy in the mirror. Her lines aren't as _there _as they usually are, the purply color underneath her eyes is gone and she's got a different, but still pretty, shade of purple on her eyelids. They almost look like she turned her eyes upside down.

Clint nods decisively. "Pretty."

Her red lips leave a smudge on his cheek that she wipes away with gentle fingertips.

"Thank you Sweetie."

Clint tilts his head again as he hears the front door slam open and hit the wall with a _crack._

Clint shimmies out of Mommy's arms and bolts into the room he shares with Barney.

When Daddy comes home like that Clint likes to hide under the bed. If he curls up small in the far corner with the blanket his Daddy thought he had thrown away (Mommy had rescued it) he felt a little safe.

He can hear them and he shuts his eyes tight hoping that tonight will be different because Mommy got pretty for Daddy.

"Whatchu do to ur face?"

"I borrowed some makeup from a friend. Do you like it?"

"You look like a whore."

Clint heard a fleshy smack and Mommy gasped, Clint curled up tighter. Nope just the same as any other night.

"Didn't think I'd come home tonight did ur? Thought you could trick me?"

The floor vibrated through the small house when Mommy fell.

A meaty thud meant Daddy had kicked her in the tummy again.

Usually Barney would have come in by now. He could have yelled and made Daddy look at him, but Barney hadn't been home in a while.

Another thud and this time he heard Mommy cry out.

Maybe. Maybe he could be a big boy like Barney.

Clint hugged his blankie tight one last time for luck before he crawled out from under the bed and ran into the living room.

Mommy's pretty purple was smeared across her face and something black had dripped down her face from where she had been crying.

"Daddy!"

Mommy's head jerked towards his voice and she shook her head. No. No.

"Go to your room Clint."

Clint bit his lip hard and he squinted his eyes real hard so they looked mean like Daddy's.

"Stop it."

"Get out of here you little bastard."

Mommy's head was still shaking. No.

Her pretty face was melting back, this time the purple was growing on her cheekbone.

Mommy used to be pretty until Daddy had hit her. He always had to ruin everything.

Clint ran straight towards his Daddy and shoved him in the leg as hard as he could.

Daddy swayed before he regained his balance.

Clint ducked away from the first blow but Daddy had picked up the mirror that Mommy had used to put her makeup on with and he swung it hard with his other hand.

Clint could feel and hear the glass of the mirror shattering as it crashed into the side of his head, before the sound was abruptly muffled and he felt something pop in his ear as he hit the ground dazed and sobbing.

Daddy dropped the broken mirror on the floor before he turned back towards Mommy and kicked her again.

When Barney finally came through the door Daddy had already left again and Mommy was trying to pick shards of glass out of Clint's scalp and ear.

Clint didn't talk about what had happened but he had to tilt his head now so that his right ear could pick up more sounds. All he could ever hear out of his left were really loud noises like shouting.

Mommy liked to call him Birdy after that. She said he looked like a little baby bird as he twisted and turned his head so he could hear.

The mirror got thrown away.

Daddy didn't really need it to hit him anyways.

* * *

When Clint is twelve his parents die in a fiery alcohol induced crash.

He wonders if the priest would hit him if he spit on his father's coffin.

He doesn't risk it.

* * *

The orphanage is pretty small.

The nuns tell him to say his prayers every night.

They say he should be grateful that he could be saved from the sins of his father.

The Mother Superior likes to drag him into the small bathroom and she goes over his face, feature by feature, while she brandishes his father's obituary picture.

He has his nose.

His hair color.

His goddamn chin is apparently exactly the same as his late father's and she tuts and frets and wonders how she'll ever save him since it's obvious that he has so much of his father in him.

She thinks he's a lost cause and when she catches him masturbating to a photo of a handsome half naked man she beats him until his butt is as purple as his mother's cheeks used to be.

He got her eyes and her bruises.

When he's scrubbing the bathroom down as part of his punishment Clint looks at his face for a long hard moment.

Apple doesn't fall far from either tree and looks like he got the worst of both parents.

Of course the whole faggot thing is all his own so he has that going for him at least.

* * *

When he's fourteen Barney leads him to the visiting circus and they manage to convince the Ringmaster to let them stay.

Well Barney convinces him by himself. Barney goes into a small tent with the older man and twenty minutes later they're a part of the clean up crew. The Ringmaster's face is still red and he hasn't buttoned up his pants correctly. Clint's eyesight is near perfect. Clint doesn't look at him. He knows what happened anyways.

They clean and clean; sometimes there's food.

There's always beer and Clint likes the way it makes him floaty and calm.

He sneaks in to see the show sometimes, but he avoids the House of Mirrors like the plague.

Barney goes away and comes back at night. Sometimes his voice is hoarse. Sometimes he limps. Clint bites his lip and doesn't look. He's not as brave as Barney; he knows he's a coward.

He doesn't need a mirror to tell him that truth as well.

They keep moving with the circus and things aren't good but at least they aren't as bad as when they were home.

* * *

Clint sneeks quietly into the Big Top. Everyone has gone home or to bed and Clint likes to lay in the middle of the ring; cool sand cushioning his back and the tall tall tent spiraling up into infinity in the darkness.

Clint lets his bad ear rest in the sand as he looks sideways. A glimmering something pulls his head up and he looks into the darkness. There's no color to the shapes but they're all crystal clear and Clint sees a target.

Clint smiles a little as he stands back up, brushing sand off of his cut off jeans and ratty t-shirt.

He had found a small knife that one of the performers had dropped a while ago and he kept it with him. The thin blade felt good in his hands and he had seen the slender man throw it so it whipped through the air and bit deeply into wood and cloth. Clint was always looking for tree stumps and posts to work as targets but this would be better.

An actual target for target practice.

He throws the knife 5, 6, 7 times. He never seems to throw it correctly though. The knife always hits the target dead center, but more often then not it hits with its pommel.

The man appears out of the darkness behind him and grabs Clint's shoulder roughly.

Clint's whole body flinches as he looks up at the grown man who's knife he had stolen. Instead of anger however the man's face is pulled broad with a wide grin.

"Hey Boyo. I seen that; how'd you like to do it fer real?"

Clint slowly nods yes and Trickshot's smile broadened.

* * *

Turns out Barney's a good shot too; not as good as Clint but he learns fast.

When they join in the act Barney's visits to the Ringmaster stop. Now that they're earning their keep Barney doesn't have to earn it on his back.

Trickshot teaches them everything he can think of and Clint eats it up and soon he's taking shots with the bow, with knives, with anything he can lay his hands on. Impossible shots.

Trickshot starts calling him Hawkeye. With his bird tilted head and near perfect vision Trickshot says he looks like a scrawny magpie. But people don't want to see stupid little thieves, they want to see feats of daring and bravery. So _Hawk_eye it is.

Trickshot likes to teach the brother's in front of a mirror.

He says they can see where everything is going that way.

Form isn't worth squat in this type of marksmanship; it's about effectiveness, so they learn to shoot from almost any position. After a good night's practice sometimes Trickshot takes them out to a diner.

Clint eats until he is full and he smiles wide around a mouthful of food.

One day Clint is trying to figure out how to shoot down his body from a prone position. The arrow needs to fly just right or he'll get an unwanted dick piercing. Nothing he does seems to work and as he struggles and fights Barney is the first to get it.

Trickshot looks at Clint like he's just failed some type of test and he prods the boy in the stomach with his toe.

"Look at urself."

Clint peeks at the mirror briefly before looking back up at Trickshot puzzled.

"You been eating too much food, being a fat ass ain't gonna get you anywhere. Suck in ur gut and do it right."

Clint looks back at the mirror silently and he looks at the profile of his stomach and feels a lurch of self disgust.

Fat asses don't get anywhere.

The next time they go to a diner Clint gets a salad with water.

Barney gets pie.

* * *

When Clint turns seventeen he figures out what Trickshot and Barney have been up to.

They break both of his legs and would have killed him if his screams of pain hadn't brought an off duty police officer running.

Barney sneers down at him and gives him one last kick to his side, that makes a rib give way, before he bolts after their mentor.

It was like looking at a mirror image of their father.

* * *

For a long time Clint kills people for a living.

His hair is long and shaggy and his beard is a birds nest of filth.

It's a good thing he kills people from a distance and takes his orders over a burner phone.

Nobody would hire him if they saw his face.

It should have made him even more disgusted with himself then he already was; but the truth was he hadn't looked in a mirror since he had seen what his brother's face had become.

He didn't want to see his father ever again.

* * *

Agent Coulson shoots him in the leg.

Clint is actually pretty impressed at the whole thing, the older man had crept up on his bad side and lay him out without giving away his position. Clint only knew he was there when he heard the gunshot and dropped with a curse of pain as his leg gave out.

That damn head tilt must have given him away.

When Clint wakes up from blood loss induced unconsciousness he's been strapped to a hospital bed and the worst of his grime has apparently been sponge bathed off of him.

Coulson stands over him in his perfectly pressed suit and looks him up and down with an unimpressed glare.

"You must be good."

Clint's eyes narrow.

"I'm the best."

"You'd have to be if people are willing to stand close enough to you to put out a contract on someone."

"Cellphones are a modern miracle man."

"Ah." Coulson shrugs. "My mistake."

"Lemme out of here."

"Nope. You're not going anywhere. Besides don't you want to hear my job offer?"

Clint smiled thinly. "Nope."

"So you'd prefer a prison sentence and the possibility of the death penalty?"

Clint hunched down low in his bed and glowered at the older man.

"I thought so."

* * *

_Ten Years Later_

Clint slowly and methodically twines his tie around his neck making an utter hash of putting it on. Grumbling quietly about being forced to participate in Starks wedding bash; about the intricacies of ties and formal wear, about just about anything he can think of really.

Phil steps up behind him and holds him close to his chest.

The older man is still pale and ragged from Loki's spear but he is back on his feet.

"Hey handsome."

"Help!"

"Can't figure out the tie?"

Clint pouts at Phil's reflection in the mirror.

Phil smiles and turns him so that they're facing each other. His tie is perfectly made in a matter of seconds and Phil turns him back so that Clint can see the final look.

He looks at himself in the mirror in front of him.

The suit looks good on him.

His newest hearing aid is nearly invisible it's so small.

His face is the best part though, crowsfeet and laughlines are starting to appear around his mouth and eyes and he looks absolutely nothing like his father.

Clint's face broadens into a wide smile.

He thinks it's a good look for himself.

_Fin_


	2. Chapter 2

Clint figures hiding out on his floor of Stark's tower is probably not what a responsible adult would do. The level of FUBAR that the latest alien invasion had reached though meant that a little skulking probably wouldn't go amiss. After the look of **disappointment** that fucking Captain America had given him when they managed to drag themselves painfully back home Clint didn't want to know what everyone elses reaction was.

After three days Clint figures the worst has probably past, plus he was getting really tired of his emergency stash of granola bars, and he headed towards the common area's kitchen. It was pretty late (early?) and he figured if he timed it just right he could slip in and out without meeting anyone. Steve was probably pummeling punching bags and Tony was in his lab and everyone else would hopefully be asleep.

His lack of sleep and maybe slightly concussed head meant that he had failed to take into account JARVIS' complete inability to mind his own business.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the only light coming from a pendant light that illuminated a small portion of the table. Coulson was waiting patiently in this small pool of light and Clint nearly turned on his heels and fled as soon as he caught sight of the older man.

About a month after everyone had moved into the Tower Fury had nonchalantly strolled out of the elevator pushing a wheelchair that contained a stone faced Phil Coulson.

Clint's sure that the street, an ungodly number of floors down, had heard the cacophony that had erupted from everyones throats when they had caught sight of Coulson.

Coulson had smiled slowly as he was surrounded by everyone and when Steve had clapped a friendly paw down on his shoulder Clint had been sure that the man's face would burst into flame.

Clint bit his lip as he slunk into the kitchen.

Coulson definitely looked healthier than when he had first been released from Medical but his thin hair was a wild mass of cowlicks and he was wearing pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. JARVIS had obviously woken him up to tell him about Clint's attempt at a food run. The dark room helped to disguise the fact that he was still in a wheelchair.

"Barton."

Clint hid a wince and just kept going towards the refrigerator. If he had to deal with a lecture this late at night he was definitely going to get some food out of the whole ordeal.

Clint eyed the cherry pie that had been placed invitingly in the front of the fridge.

Fat asses don't get anywhere

He grabs a cherry yogurt and a spoon before he takes a seat across from Coulson, he knows his face is in shadow.

He eats the yogurt slowly keeping his gaze fixed on the small container rather than the older man's face.

"Sir."

Coulson sighs and pinches his nose gently as though he is trying to fend off a headache.

"Mind telling me what the hell happened today?"

Clint hunched down lower in his seat and spooned up another mouthful of yogurt.

"My ear piece broke. I didn't realize that the plan had changed."

Coulson's eyes seemed to cut through the darkness and Clint had to fight against squirming in his chair like a toddler.

"Rogers said that he warned you repeatedly that Stark was going to hit the building."

"I'm fine."

Coulson's gaze was less than forgiving.

"You fell off a multi-story building."

"And yet here I am."

"I want an explanation."

"He was on my right."

Coulson's forehead furrowed in confusion.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Clint finally looked up and his own face crumpled in confusion.

"I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

Clint leaned forwards and turned so that Coulson could see the right side of his head.

"See this?"

He traced a hand across a sharp scar that cut it's way across the top of his cheek and into his ear.

"Yes."

"I got whacked pretty good when I was a kid, it busted my ear up internally, I can barely hear an explosion on this side."

Coulson leaned forward with a grunt and gently grasped Clint's chin tilting his head so his ear was brought more fully into the light.

The warm dry fingers seemed to brand Clint's skin and he fought against the conflicting urges to both lean into the touch and rip his face away.

When Coulson finally leaned back into his wheelchair Clint felt disappointment rise in his chest before he tamped it back down.

"Why didn't you tell Medical? They would have had you fitted with a hearing aid years ago."

Clint snorted.

"I thought you knew. You came up on my bad side when you shot me. I figured if you knew everyone, including Medical, knew."

Coulson frowned.

"Is that why you tilt your head when you're tired?"

"I've been trying to get a hold of that for years. I know it makes me look like a goddamn moron."

"No it doesn't."

Clint waved his spoon in denial before he scraped the last of the yogurt up and popped it into his mouth with a pleased hum.

"I have an appointment tomorrow. Come with me. Medical can take a look and we'll see about setting you up with some sort of hearing aid."

"Yeah...no."

Clint tossed the empty container across the entire length of the kitchen so that it landed neatly in the small slot of the trash can, the spoon was flung at the same time in the opposite direction and landed neatly in the sink.

"I'm heading to bed. See you tomorrow sir."

"Barton."

Coulson's voice was a deep bark that made Clint freeze.

"That wasn't a request. Until we can get this problem under control I'm sidelining you from any further missions."

"Sir!"

Coulson's face was stony as Clint spun back around in protest.

"The appointments at 0900."

Coulson moved his power wheelchair backwards smoothly before he moved it forwards and slid up next to Clint. He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt of effort that made Clint clench his fists anxiously.

"I promise you Barton; this changes nothing."

"That's obviously not true."

Coulson leaned in close and pulled Clint into a loose embrace.

Clint could feel the way every muscle in his body went taut in shock.

The taller man's breath was warm against Clint's left ear as he leaned in and whispered.

"Wanting what's best for you doesn't mean I don't respect you."

Clint let himself lean into the warm hug for a single moment before he gently disengaged and guided Coulson back into his wheelchair.

"I'll see you at 0830."

As Clint fled the room he didn't dare look Coulson in the face.

* * *

The car ride the next morning is a quiet one.

Clint leans back into one of the corners of the backseat and keeps his gaze fixed on the passing buildings and people.

Coulson had smiled warmly at him before burying his nose back into what Clint suspected was Stark's version of a Kindle as Clint slipped into the handicap accessible van at exactly 0830.

Exiting the van when they reached the SHIELD operated hospital was a little more involved as the driver had to unclip the bars that had kept the wheelchair from moving. Coulson then had to maneuver the chair until it was on the specific portion of the floor that would gently set him down on the concrete next to the van. Once he had done so the driver pulled up a couple more guard rails and pushed the button that worked the floor piece.

They were on their way quickly afterwards and Clint strolled alongside his Handler. He had to shorten his stride to keep up with the mechanized wheelchair but he didn't want to leave the older man behind.

Coulson finally broke the silence.

"Don't get me wrong I'm thankful that Stark gave me this thing; but you would think he could have managed internet access."

"If he had given you internet access you'd be checking your e-mail."

"And?"

"And you're supposed to be resting sir, not doing paperwork."

"I find paperwork restful."

"You would sir."

They slip into the elevator and Coulson pulls a small key out of one of his suit's pockets. After he twisted it into the fireman's key he taps a code using the floor numbers. The elevator starts moving with a jolt and they start going down past the basement level of the hospital.

Clint winces as the doors open up on the underground level of the hospital that SHIELD controlled.

There are a pair of nurses waiting and Clint just knows that one of them is for him so he won't be able to sneak out as easily.

Coulson raises an eyebrow and gently shoves Clint towards the blonde nurse before he rolls easily after the brunette.

"I'll see you in an hour or so Barton. No vents."

"Sir!"

"You heard me. Medical has told me all kinds of stories."

"Myths sir. Nothing but myths."

Coulson's face is stony but Clint can see the way a corner of his mouth twitches as he fights against a smile.

"Nevertheless."

Clint turns back towards the nurse who's waiting patiently for him.

"Lead the way I guess."

"Shoes off and we'll get your weight."

Clint cringed as he shucked off his boots. He hated this.

The nurse did a double take when she saw the weight on the scale and Clint hid a frown.

He'd have to stick to salads again for a while.

"All right Agent Barton. You'll be in room 4. Please put the gown on, your doctor will be here in a moment."

"I just need him to check my ear." Clint protested.

"Agent Coulson insisted that you needed a full work up because of some injuries that you received from jumping off of a building." The nurse sounded distinctly unimpressed.

She did work for SHIELD, Clint was sure that she had heard far worse.

Clint went reluctantly into the small examination room and stripped down to his boxers before he pulled on the gown that was draped across the small bed. The wait as always seemed interminable before the door swung open with a gentle knock. The doctor that came through reminded him of the steely eyed bearded lady that had worked at the Circus; she had been known for 'accidentally' whacking some of the more handsy Circus workers in the groin. Clint felt his knees clench together against his will.

The diminutive woman is reading a chart that he assumes is his and she's frowning at it's contents. When she finally looks up at him Clint doesn't like the expression on her face.

"Agent Barton. I'm Doctor Gilbert."

"Ma'am."

"Agent Coulson informed me that you've had ongoing hearing problems, but I'd like to give you a regular work up first so that we can see what sort of damage your latest adventure has inflicted on you."

Clint clenches his jaw but nods tightly in resigned agreement.

The examination is thorough and Clint has to grind back several yelps of pain as Gilbert presses against the bruises that his leap from the building had given him. When she's finally finished Clint jerks his gown back up over his shoulders with an irritable huff.

"All right, now for your ear."

Gilbert popped a sterilized cap on a cone shaped light and leaned in close to Clint's right ear.

She was quiet for several moments and when she pulled back her face was stretched into a frown.

"How long ago did you receive this blow to your head?"

Clint thought about that for a moment.

"A little over thirty years ago."

"You were 3?"

Clint raised a single eyebrow.

Gilbert shrugged.

"What happened?"

"As far as I can remember I got a hand mirror smashed into my head."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed before she regained her composure.

"How much can you hear out of that ear?"

"Mostly really loud noises. Although that could just be my other ear, I can't really tell."

"Well it doesn't look like surgery would be of much help at this point, however we should be able to fit you with a hearing aid."

Clint huffed a sigh.

"Yeah cause that won't be the first thing someone grabs for in a fight."

"We have several types of hearing aids that have almost no external components; they should be almost impossible to remove without your participation."

"Fine. So give me one."

"We'll need to give you a hearing test first."

Clint sighed even more deeply.

"What the hell, I guess today can't get much more annoying than it already is, bring it on."

When Clint marched out of the small room that Doctor Gilbert had led him to Coulson was waiting for him. He thanked God that at least he was back in his regular clothes.

The small doctor held out a hand and Clint shook it perfunctorily before he retreated behind Coulson's chair.

She smiled gently at him.

"Your hearing aid will be ready for pick up in a week or so Agent Barton."

"Yeah, great."

"You'll need to come back in and I'll teach you how to put it in and we'll get it all set up for you."

Clint nodded tersely and avoided looking Coulson in the face.

Gilbert turned her face towards Coulson.

"You're his handler correct?"

Coulson nodded slowly.

Clint frowned.

"So what if he is."

"It means that I'll need to tell him as well as you the new information that we've gathered both from your physical as well as your hearing examination. So both of you need to come with me."

Gilbert led them into her office and Clint forced himself to sprawl comfortably in the chair, even though he had to hide another wince from the careless move.

Coulson gave him a sharp look and Clint widened his eyes innocently.

Gilbert tapped her pen gently against the desk and both men's faces swung to face her.

Her face was serious as she flipped to the front of Clint's folder.

"The hearing aid should definitely assist you with your hearing loss. If it doesn't work we'll look into cochlear implants but we won't have to worry about that for at least a couple of months if at all."

"Great." Clint grunted as he began to stand up. "So let's get out of here boss."

"Hold it." Gilbert's voice was sharp and Clint dropped back into his seat with a defeated thud.

"What? I don't have any broken bones, maybe a slight concussion which I know how to deal with, and some bruises what else is there?"

"You're nearly twenty pounds under weight."

"What? You're crazy."

Gilbert frowned at him.

"I'll need to do a full body x-ray..."

"Which isn't going to happen."

"but it looks like you've been underweight for quite some time and if you continue in this vein I wouldn't be surprised if you started to have more serious health problems." Gilbert continued doggedly.

"Bullshit." Clint snarled.

"Barton!"

"No sir this is bullshit. Underweight, hah!"

Gilbert raised both of her eyebrows.

"Are you saying you think you're overweight?"

Coulson's voice was quiet but something thrummed in his tone that brought Clint's head snapping around.

"I'm saying I'm fine."

"As a medical professional I am saying you are not. You need to add a lot of protein to your diet if you want to keep up your muscle mass. Eggs, almonds, salmon, yogurt, beef that sort of thing."

Coulson leaned towards Gilbert voice serious.

"If he doesn't gain weight what are some of the side effects he could expect?"

"Fainting spells, heart palpitations, other permanent types of organ damage. This isn't something you want to mess with Agent Barton."

Clint shook his head in denial.

"I've been eating like this since I was a teenager."

"Yes and that type of starvation diet was definitely not good for you, but you can't tell me you're not doing more physically draining things since you joined the Avengers. At this point I am marking your folder. I can't recommend that you go on any sort of mission until after you gain at least fifteen pounds. More would be better."

"What?"

"You're in danger of collapse. If you lose any more weight I will make sure that you are hospitalized and given intravenous fluids. If that happens I'll recommend psychological testing before you can go back in the field."

Clint snarled and tried to stand up again so he could storm from the room. The only thing that kept him in his seat was the feeling of Coulson's warm hand as it gently encircled his bare wrist.

"If you could give me a diet plan I'll make sure he follows it."

Gilbert passed Coulson a folder of papers before she regained her feet.

"That's everything that I needed to pass along for the moment. Like I said the hearing aid should come in in about a week and you'll need to come back for a weigh in in a month or so."

Coulson nodded gently before he added the folder to the briefcase that he kept at his side.

"We'll see you in a week then."

Clint averted his eyes and bit his lip.

As he slunk back towards the elevator Clint stayed well behind Coulson's back so that he didn't have to see the older man's expressions. How worthless did he have to be that he couldn't even figure out how to feed himself.

The elevator door closed behind them and Coulson quickly slotted the key back in and pressed the buttons. They slid back towards the surface in uncomfortable silence and Clint stayed in the rear corner.

When they slid back into the van Clint tried in vain to find a corner that Coulson couldn't see him from. He finally settled for sitting as far away from his handler as possible.

"Barton...Clint."

Clint started violently as Coulson called him by his first name.

He looked hesitantly at the older man.

"Come here."

He slid over to Coulson's side, but he kept his head down and turned to the right so that Coulson's words couldn't hit him in his good ear.

Warm fingers slid around the back of his neck and Clint shivered helplessly as the dry pads stroked through the short strands of hair on his neck and tugged him closer.

Their foreheads were gently pressed together and Clint let his eyes flutter closed so that he could savor the feeling.

"We'll figure this out."

"How sir? Apparently I can't even take care of myself."

Clint could feel Coulson's...Phil's muscles tensing as though he was steeling himself for something.

Phil's lips met his gently in a sweet dry kiss that only lasted for a moment.

"Don't worry. I'll help you."

Phil wound his arms around Clint's shoulders and brought him even closer so that Clint was on his knees next to the wheelchair and their chests were pressed together.

Clint let his head fall to Phil's uninjured shoulder as he bit back a sob and let himself collapse, just a little bit, into the older man's arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint isn't used to affection in any of its forms. The last time he recalled receiving anything like it he was still toddling around in diapers. He kneels at Phil Coulson's feet for several moments before he pulls away from the warm darkness that Phil's shoulder had offered him.

He'd broken down like a sniveling child and he has to hold back a shudder at the unexpected flush of something that runs through him. The heat that runs through him isn't lust. Well it isn't just lust at any rate. That warm dry kiss was the first sign of the changes to come. The next sign comes when Phil lifts his hand and brings it steadily up to his face.

In the past if a hand came towards his face it had always been to hit or been a medical professional. So when Phil leans in close and raises that hand towards him Clint shies away before he thinks about it.

He's seen this kind of 'affection' before. It's the lie of promised affection that ends in a sharp slap to a cheek. A reminder, that Barney, Trickshot, and his father had always been willing to provide. Snivelling cowardly men didn't deserve affection and anyone who expected it deserved to get knocked down a peg or two.

Phil leans back into the support of his wheelchair and his lips tighten.

Clint bites his lip sharply and has to look away from the older man in front of him. He's already disappointed Coulson he can tell. He can feel the burn of intense blue eyes as they look at him.

Although he can't tell what the other man sees, he can take a guess. Blotchy red cheeks. His own blue eyes standing out in stunning contrast to the intense red of his sclera. Disgusting runny nose. Phil's hand comes up again, and this time Clint holds steady although he still can't hold back his flinch completely.

The warm dry palm and sensitive fingertips of his handler's hand sweeps gently around until he has grasped the hinge of his jaw very very lightly. His thumb comes up and sweeps away the damp tracks that Clint's tears have left on his cheek. He then carefully retracts his right hand before doing the same thing to Clint's other cheek with his left. This time he doesn't move his hand and they just sit in silence as the van continues inexorably towards the Avenger's Tower.

After several long moments Clint feels something give way in his chest and he hesitantly nuzzles closer to Phil's large hand and lets himself release some of the tension that had thrummed through him when he had expected a blow.

Phil's hum of pleasure at Clint's trust was a low rumble that shivered across the archer's skin and when Phil relinquished his jaw and started to pet through the soft spikes that covered Clint's head and left him nearly boneless as he sprawled across the older man's lap.

The van slowed to a stop a short eternity later. Clint was a purring near comatose puddle and he had gathered enough courage to tilt his head this way and that so Phil wouldn't have to stretch an uncomfortable distance to try and reach a portion of his head.

When the van's door ripped open with a loud crash Clint went from nearly asleep to launching himself towards the violent intrusion before he could fully regain his senses. Clint wrenched himself from the flashing fog of startled fear and found himself crouched low over one Tony Stark. His hands were neatly wrapped around the slender neck and his teeth were bared.

Tony had both of his hands pulled up to his shoulders in a gesture of surrender and his eyes rolled wide with startlement.

"Whoa there Legolas. It's just me."

Clint pried his hands free of Stark's throat and he regained his feet with an embarrassed cough.

"Of course it is Mr. Stark. After all what kind of day would it be if you weren't leaving a path of destruction and embarrassment."

The Sahara couldn't have been as dry as Phil's voice as he let the stony faced driver help him out of the van.

"I...Uh...Sorry about that Stark." Clint rubbed a sheepish hand across the back of his neck in a futile attempt to slow the blush that creeping up his face.

"You...uh...startled me."

"No fucking shit." Starks voice was almost as dry as Phil's as he regained his feet and brushed off his backside.

"Scouts honor." He continued. "I'll never do that again."

Clint snorts hard.

"As if you were ever a boyscout."

"Hey I've scouted many a boy in my day so technically…"

"I am one hundred percent positive." Phil said as he rolled past both men. "That I do not want you to finish that sentence. In fact I am going to do my best to forget that you were ever here to begin with."

"Aww but Agent."

"If you're that bored Mr. Stark perhaps you could work on the paperwork that I know Director Fury has been plying you with."

"I will do exactly jack shit to help that asshole out in any way." Tony's voice hardened and all of the humor seemed to drain out of him in an instant.

"Mr. Stark…"

"Save it Agent. I bet you are just as pissed as the rest of us are that he would pull that fucking stunt. Declaring you dead might have forced us to work together but it also removed any small amount of loyalty I might have felt towards SHIELD as a whole."

Phil's face tightened in something that looked like the second cousin of confusion.

"You have to know every single one of us, Barton included I just bet, is willing to do just about anything to make sure that you're back on your feet and in the field before too much longer. Or hell just backing us up at all." Tony shifted uneasily on his feet and looked off into the middle distance as though he could hide his feelings behind such a flimsy facade.

"We need your backup and support and if SHIELD won't have you because of the Council's 'stupid ass' decisions and Fury's manipulative asshattery then we'll gladly pay you twice as much as you're making now and probably half of what you're actually worth."

Clint had to hide a smile as the small man in front of them, as puffed up and peacocky as he usually was, paid his handler compliment after compliment.

"Are you implying that the Avengers are going to remove themselves from SHIELD?"

"Blatantly stating it actually."

Roger's voice rumbled out from the stairwell and Clint and Phil turned to look as Captain America strolled up to them nonchalantly. Clint could still almost see the little exclamation points that surrounded Phil's head whenever the man appeared in front of them unexpectedly.

"Director Fury…"

"Lied to us and broke our trust."

Clint felt an iron fist start to clench around his chest as he thought about those moments. After Loki, after the recalibration, after the shawarma when Coulson's death had been revealed to him he had felt his world go darker than it ever had before. Barney and Trickshot's betrayal had been a turning point in his life, as had the bullet that Phil had shot through his leg. Coulson's death, fake though it turned out to be, was another.

"You should leave sir." Phil turned to meet Clint's eyes as the younger man spoke up. "I know you and Fury have history but he's been stepping over the line more and more lately."

"Oh come on Katniss you're invited to this party too." Stark snarked.

"I have a binding contract with SHIELD." Clint said quietly. "Due to some poor decision making in my youth I was given the option of SHIELD or life in prison with the possibility of the death sentence."

Coulson's eyes swept to him and the usually stoic man blushed ever so faintly.

Clint's eyes lit up faintly with a trace of his usual humor as he caught the embarrassment that had briefly marred Coulson's face.

"That is unless of course the man who brought me in, bitching and bleeding profusely, lied to me about the conditions."

"Lying." Coulson said quietly. "Is such an ugly word."

"What would you call it then?"

"Careful restructuring of the truth. After all those men you killed weren't exactly well loved by law enforcement."

"Ah so if perhaps the dates were fudged a tad then technically I was working for SHIELD at the time."

"Technically."

"So where's my back pay sir?"

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Enough with the flirting." Tony huffed as he turned and started walking away. "Decision made and all that. Pepper will send you the necessary paperwork."

Steve grinned at both of them for a moment.

"Glad to know I'll have people I can trust at my back. Coulson. Barton." He nodded goodbye before he headed towards the stairwell that would take him to his workout room.

The huff of amusement that Coulson let loose after they had left spoke more of shocked pleasure than any sort of humor towards the situation.

"Well that took an unexpected turn."

"Yes sir. I would say so."

"Don't think this means I'm going to ignore what the doctor had to say Clint."

Clint's bright smile dimmed and he eyed a nearby stairwell that would put him out of Phil's grasp and let him tuck himself away from the uncomfortable conversation he was quite sure was heading his way.

"Don't even think about it Barton."

Clint didn't know how Phil managed it from his wheelchair but the older man quickly herded him into the elevator before he could make his daring escape.

Phil leaned forwards and pushed the button that would drop them off at the communal kitchen before he leaned back into his chair with a quiet sigh of discomfort.

"What'd the docs say about you sir?"

"Do you think you could call me Phil?"

Coulson's eyes watch him closely as he asks the question and Clint struggles mightily to keep his expression smooth and calm. The kiss they had shared in the van had been chaste and quick for all of its sweetness. The petting had been soothing and calm rather than sexual. He wanted Phil; but he was also afraid of what would happen if the older man took it any further.

Clint knew that everything came at a price and as he remembered food and a bed and Barney limping for days he also knew he'd take what he could from the older man no matter the cost. Clint had thought he knew what Phil would want from him. Calling Phil by his first name was not a part of that.

Clint fought against the way his brow wanted to furrough with confusion before it cleared suddenly as he recognized the evasion for what it was. Coulson just wanted to gain his trust while keeping information he considered private away from him.

"Nah, sir. It's habit at this point."

Phil frowned at him and Clint turned away to study the elevators buttons unsure of his misstep. He had backed off of the unwanted topic and saved the man from any sort of emotional closeness that the evasion might have prompted.

"The doctors say that I'm recovering nicely, though from the amount of prodding and poking that went on I'd say I'm not healing as quickly as they'd like."

"Is that because of the nature of the injury or because of the nature of the weapon?" Clint asked before his brain could catch up with the fact that Coulson had answered his question.

"It's unclear, although I will say that the nature of the weapon is the only reason I survived."

"How's that?"

"The damned thing was hot enough that it cauterized the wound as it went through my shoulder. That kept me from bleeding out, apparently it nicked a couple of pretty important blood vessels but they were burned shut."

Clint frowned and looked away as he fought against a wave of nausea. For an instant he looked at himself in the reflective surface of the elevator. Fear and self-loathing filled him at the sight and he had to clench his eyes shut.

He hadn't been strong enough to fight off Loki's influence. He hadn't been good enough and in so many ways Phil's injury was his fault as much as the god's.

Warm fingers wove through his own and he whipped his face back around and opened his eyes. He slowly hesitantly knelt when Coulson pulled at him.

"JARVIS please stop the elevator for a moment."

"Of course Agent Coulson."

The elevator slowed in its ascent before coming to a smooth stop. Clint studied the entwined fingers in front of him.

"I would really like it if you could call me Phil, Clint. "

"I...I don't understand."

"I know you don't. What do you see when you look in the mirror Clint?"

Clint kept his eyes fixed on their hands and he could feel his mouth tighten in silent refusal.

"All right. I'll start with something a little easier. How many years were you a mercenary between leaving the circus and coming to SHIELD?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Indulge me."

"Seven years."

"Okay. How many innocent people did you kill in that timespan?"

Clint's mouth opened sharply before he shut it with a snap.

"I know the answer to that one as well. Zero. Every single person you killed in those times almost certainly deserved worse than what you gave them. Despite seemingly insurmountable odds you became a better man than your father. Than your brother. Than your mentor. All of these men that could have ruined you. You have surpassed all of them. You are better than all of them."

"Sir!"

Phil leaned in and kissed Clint again. It started as dry and sweet as their first one had but quickly evolved into a tight clinch that had both men winding their arms around each other.

When Phil finally pulled back he was panting heavily and his eyes were lambent.

"Whatever you're thinking about yourself." Phil continued in a low rasp. "Whatever House of Mirrors distortion that makes you look at yourself like that. You're wrong."

"Sir…"

"Phil!"

"...Phil, I couldn't save you. I killed men for Loki. I...I'm not anything."

"You're wrong, Clint."

Phil leaned in close and kissed Clint's cheek lightly before he leaned back into his wheelchair again.

"You're everything."


End file.
